Me
by sitabethel
Summary: Yami Marik struggles with identity and a sense of individuality as he experiments with his appearance in order to look less like Marik and Marik's father. One-shot/Deathshipping/M-rated.


*****I've wanted an excuse to give Yami Marik dread locks forever, and that fit well with this fic, so that's another thing off my bucket list.*** **

As he lived with Ryo over the years most of the old urges, the violent, dark, blood-lusting urges, faded into something resembling human emotions. He'd even tried to tell Ryo he loved him, once. The word made his stomach sick, made him feel dirty somehow, as if it could hurt him. Instead of _I love you,_ what ended coming how of Kek's mouth was _I want you_, and Ryo had taken him right there on the living room floor. He'd been gentle, achingly sweet and light with Kek's body that morning, as if that were his way to say _I love you, too_ without speaking the words.

And that's how it was with them. Kek could never speak, as if kind words were cold clots of blood blocking his throat from making any sort of sound. Ryo never complained, never asked for validation or comfort. Each time Kek's words tumbled back down his own throat and crashed into the pit of his stomach, Ryo was there with a physical response to the words never said. Sometimes Ryo acted sweet, caressing, holding, stroking until Kek almost wept for a childhood that hadn't really ever been his, and sometimes Ryo acted untamed, pulling hair, scratching skin, and thrusting until Kek's voice grew hoarse from shouting curses and threats of what he'd do if Ryo dared stop.

Ryo was the answer to a question Kek wasn't sure of. He always knew what to do when Kek couldn't express himself. Kek suspected it was because they'd both spent too much time in the back of their own minds while another consciousness took over their lives. They didn't need symbolic language, the type of expression that a madman could carve into a child's back. Their way of speaking was semiotic, beneath the surface, understanding and knowing without vocalizing out loud.

Kek never paid attention to the passage of time, the accumulation of years rushing them from late teens, to early, mid, and then late twenties. He didn't notice the hair growing around his cheeks and chin either – until one day when he stepped out of the shower, spiked hair hanging low on his head from the weight of the water in it, and looked in the mirror. He saw his father staring back at him. Kek roared in anger – a child again, angry again, violent again. He slammed his fists into the mirror until cracks and blood obliterated the offending image. Kek sank to the bathroom floor, curled into a ball with his bleeding fists held up as if to block a counter-blow, and wailed as tears rushed down his whiskered cheeks.

That's how Ryo found him. Kek waited for the lecture, for destroying the mirror, but Ryo didn't say anything. He surveyed the situation and then grabbed a pair of tweezers, cotton balls, a roll of gauze, and a bottle of alcohol from the bathroom closet. He knelt in front of Kek, staring at the swollen, blood crusted knuckles. His eyes lifted up; Kek stared back at him.

Ryo showed him the bottle of alcohol. "It's going to hurt, okay?"

Kek nodded, turning his face away. Ryo saturated a cotton ball in alcohol and dabbed the dried blood off of Kek's hands. He used the tweezers to pull out shards of glass wedged into Kek's skin. It wasn't until he wrapped the gauze around Kek's hands that he asked. "What happened?"

"I got mad."

"You break things when you're mad," Ryo said.

Kek stared at him. The statement was the most obvious sentence ever muttered and couldn't be all Ryo wanted to say. Kek nodded his head. "You know that by now."

"You've never cried before."

Kek ground his teeth against each other, looking away again. His tears stopped well before Ryo came home, and he didn't like how Ryo still knew he'd been crying.

Ryo pulled each bandaged fist close and kissed the white gauze already blooming with clusters of red poppies as the blood from the cuts soaked through.

"Please," Ryo said, didn't ask, said. Although it was a question.

Kek squirmed in his spot on the bathroom floor. He'd sat for too long. His naked ass felt cold on the tile and a little numb. "What?"

"I know it's hard for you . . . but what happened?"

"I told you. I got mad."

"Why?"

Kek held his breath, trying to calm down, trying to control the anger flaring up from belly to throat. "Because I hate them."

"Who?"

Kek growled in answer – a warning. Kek had never hit Ryo, pushed him a few times but never struck him, yet he wanted to at that moment. Because Ryo asked a question Kek didn't want to answer. For the first time Ryo wanted words instead of a physical response.

Ryo leaned closer, brushing his fingers over the golden hair growing on Kek's cheek. "Who?"

"No."

"Kek."

"No!"

"Please." And that time it wasn't a question but a request.

"Marik!" Kek screamed. "I look like Marik! And he looked like his father! _I hate them_!"

Ryo blinked, thinking for a moment. "He wore a beard?"

Kek growled. He was done. No more talking. He'd spoke enough. He stood up and went to find a new outfit. His original one sat on the bathroom counter, covered in silver flecks of mirror. Ryo left him alone for the rest of the afternoon, and when it was time for dinner he served pancakes with strawberries and hand-whipped cream thick with the taste of honey and whiskey. Kek liked breakfast more than dinner. He stared at his plate, feeling horrible. He knew why Ryo made his favorite meal, but he couldn't say _I love you_ back or even _thank you_ without feeling punched in the gut and sick.

He just wanted to say things, feel things, without it being difficult.

All he could do was scoop and heaping forkful of food into his mouth and say, "it's good."

Ryo smiled. "I'm glad."

That night in bed Ryo held Kek close, twisting pale fingers into golden stalks of hair. Kek allowed himself to curl into Ryo's embrace as they held each other in silence.

The next day, Ryo came home late. When he did return, he handed Kek a thin, rectangular box.

"What is this?" Kek asked.

"A present."

"Why?" They never exchanged gifts. Kek couldn't do that anymore than he could say beautiful things. Only once had Ryo ever given him anything – a titanium ring to wear instead of the gold traditionally worn by the Ishtar clan.

"Because . . ." Ryo paused. He looked pained, as if the words in his mouth hurt not to say, but he didn't think he should say them.

And Kek wondered what it'd feel like to hear _I love you_. He thought he might like it, but then he'd have to say it back, so he distracted himself by opening the box. The overhead light caught against a steel blade, gleaming along the polished edge. Kek lifted the straight razor out of the box. His first thought was how quick such a blade would open a throat.

Kek grinned. His reflection flashed against the steel.

"Do you like it?" Ryo asked.

Kek nodded his head.

Ryo handed him a bag. "I bought some shaving soap, a brush, and a leather strop as well."

That's when it donned on Kek why Ryo bought him the blade. His beard made him think of the man that carved the damned Pharaoh's memories into his back. Ryo bought the razor for him to shave. Kek leaned close to Ryo, and then he pulled away, doubting his own actions. However, he felt an overwhelming urge to express himself somehow, so he leaned forward again, placing a soft kiss on Ryo's cheek. He'd never done anything like that before, but Ryo had never bought him a present before, and the kiss was more bearable than saying _thank_ _you_.

Ryo blushed and held his cheek; a distracted, happy look lit up his face. It reminded Kek of when they were teenagers. Back then, Ryo blushed everyday, but they'd been together so long since that Kek couldn't remember the last time he saw Ryo look shy.

Kek went into the bathroom. He had to use a small mirror on a stand since they hadn't had a chance to replace their bathroom mirror yet. Kek used the leather strap to hone the razor's edge. The rhythmic movement and accompanying sound of stropping the razor soothed Kek, almost as if he meditated. Kek trimmed his beard as close as he could with scissors, and then lathered his face with shaving soap. The more hair he scraped away from his face, the more he felt himself, unhaunted by the ghost of his first victim.

Kek studied his face. It no longer look like the old man's, but he still saw Marik in his features. Kek didn't break the mirror this time, merely stared at his reflection wondering how he could change his face – his hateful, Ishtar face. He didn't want to be an Ishtar, didn't consider himself an Ishtar, nor had he used the surname in over eight years.

Kek grinned, remembering the day he asked Ryo if he could call himself Bakura - Kek Bakura -instead of Kek Ishtar. Ryo thought about Kek's words for a long time before speaking, and when he spoke, it was to ask if Kek understood what it would mean to share a last name. They'd lived together for a few years, and been intimate for over a year by that point. Kek knew what it meant, when two people lived together, and shared a bed, and one person took the other person's last name.

They couldn't make it legal. Even if Kek had identification papers, and he didn't. It wasn't legal in Japan for them to be officially joined. Nevertheless, Kek shared Ryo's name. That was Ryo's _ren_, a fifth of Ryo Bakura's soul. They couldn't stop Kek from using the name as his own – to hell with their papers and legal documents. They meant nothing to Kek.

A great yearning burgeoned in Kek's chest from the memory. The way Ryo asked if Kek knew what it meant. How Kek could only shrug and half-nod in response because once again his words abandoned him. How happy Ryo looked that entire day, and the day after when he'd given Kek his ring. Titanium. Ryo explained he chose matching titanium rings over gold because gold was soft but titanium was strong as steel. They hadn't reach the bed that day, ending up against the wall in the hallway.

Kek dried his face with a towel and dashed out of the bathroom and to the living room where Ryo sat on the couch and played video games. Kek knocked the control pad out of Ryo's hand and straddled Ryo's lap, twining his fingers into Ryo's hair as he kissed the one who'd given him a name, a ring, and a blade.

Ryo made a soft, pleased sound as they kissed. When the separated for breath, he ran his pale fingers over Kek's smooth cheeks. "I forgot what it was like to kiss you without the beard. I won't miss it."

Kek opened his mouth, tasting the words he couldn't say on his tongue. Instead of speaking, he stuck his tongue into Ryo's mouth, hoping Ryo could taste the unspoken words as well. Kek kissed Ryo until Ryo grew impatient, foam-white hands fumbling against the drawstring of Kek's sweat pants. Kek slid his own hands down Ryo's chest, and unbuttoned Ryo's slacks. They held each other in hand, stroking and moaning between lush, heated kisses. After both of them peaked, they curled on the couch together and napped until it was time to start dinner.

The next day Kek got onto the computer. He searched through pages and pages of hair styles on the internet. He thought perhaps short hair would change his look enough to separate him from Marik. By chance, he saw a picture of a man - skin dark like teak-wood - with long ropes of hair. An hour of research later, Kek found himself on you-tube watching videos of how to dread hair. There was a certain lack of control with dread locks, something Marik would hate and, therefore, Kek decided he loved.

By the time Ryo came home from work, he found Kek with his spikes banded off into sections and almost half of those knotted as Kek twisted and ripped each segment into tangled snakes of yellow.

"Kek, what are you doing?"

"Twist and rip. I don't have the patience for back combing and it's fun to rip the hair." And it was fun. It was a sort of violence; only it didn't hurt anyone.

Ryo gave him a confused look. "Why are you ripping your hair, exactly?"

"I want dreadlocks. I can't stand looking like Marik every time my hair's wet."

The confusion turned into mild sadness. "You mean I'll never be able to run my fingers through your hair again?"

Kek stopped. Ryo always had his fingers in Kek's hair. He teased the strands, and combed them, and used them as reigns in the bedroom. Kek never thought of how his choice might affect his partner.

"Sure you can, but it'll be different."

He thought about stopping, brushing out the mess while it was still loose enough to fix.

Ryo noticed the doubt in Kek's expression. He walked behind Kek and took a section, pulling the strands apart so that they'd knot up near the scalp. "Like this?"

"Yeah." Kek frowned. "Should I stop?"

"No. You should definitely do it."

Kek sighed, unable to express the gratitude he felt towards Ryo at that moment. They managed to tangle every section before the end of the night. Kek thought his hair looked good – until he went to sleep. By morning the ends looked frayed and single hairs stuck out along each knotted length.

Ryo frowned when he opened his eyes and saw the state of Kek's hair. "Did we do it wrong?"

Kek toyed with the ratty strips surrounding his face. "No, it takes six or more months for them to actually dread. Right now it's just messy hair. I'll need a tam to hide them while they're forming."

Ryo laughed. "Have fun shopping for one. I have to go to work." Ryo kissed him on the lips. "I–" Ryo stopped himself, sighing. "I'll see you this afternoon."

Kek jerked Ryo back to him. He didn't want Ryo to leave at that moment; he wanted him to stay close. He kissed him three times. "Ryo, I—"

His voice clogged in his throat. Kek frowned. More than ever, he wished he could say what he should have said over a decade ago.

Ryo closed his eyes and kissed Kek's forehead. "It's okay. I know."

Kek searched all over Domino, but couldn't find a tam, or even a suitable cap. Kek made do with a large, black bandana. Two weeks later Ryo presented him with another gift.

"Why . . . are you doing this?" Kek asked, the distress apparent in his voice. When Ryo gave him things, showed him affection in anyway other than bed-play, it made Kek feel more than he should.

Even after all these years, Kek didn't consider himself human, not fully. He was an echo, a shadow, something born of mind and not flesh, but Ryo had a bad way of making him feel like more.

"I'm sorry." Ryo toyed with his fingers, looking vanquished. "I know you don't like when I get sappy, it's just." He tried to put on an indifferent grin, imitating the the Spirit who once possessed him. "It's no big deal."

It wasn't that he didn't like Ryo showing his emotions, what Ryo called "sappy". It was that when Ryo did it – Kek panicked. He never knew how to respond, and his instincts (to respond with equal affection) made him nauseous.

Kek looked at his present – a hand-crocheted tam. Ryo used black yarn, but each side had a white skull with empty eye-sockets bleeding red tears down bone cheeks. Only Ryo Bakura could take something stupid and girly like crocheting and turn it into something wicked-awesome like bleeding skulls. Ryo obviously made it with Kek in mind, put thought and effort into the project.

"No, it is a big deal."

It had to stop. They had been together close to half their lives and didn't Ryo deserve something better than half a human? At the very least he deserved a gods damned thank you for tolerating Kek for so long.

He leaned close to Ryo, lowering his head so that his nose brushed against the delicate, heated skin of Ryo's temple. "It is a big deal. This is great."

Ryo's face flushed all over, just like it did before orgasm, and Kek enjoyed that look. Maybe that's what drove him to go on, go farther than he'd ever been able to.

"Th-thanks," Kek whispered like the word might cut his throat if he spoke too loudly.

Ryo gasped when he heard it, staring at Kek as if he'd imagined the sound of Kek's voice. Kek stared at the carpet, unable to look up. He felt so broken at that moment, like he didn't deserve the gift, like Ryo should have never put the effort into something for Kek. He'd sent people to the Shadows, some of them were Ryo's friends. He didn't deserve . . . didn't . . . maybe he'd throw up . . . vomit all his words out of his stomach until he was empty again . . . like during Battle City. Empty. Empty. Empty. His existence was easy back then.

Ryo's hand felt hot against Kek's cheeks, but when Ryo stole Kek's mouth for a kiss, his white lips felt like snow. Kek hadn't been expecting the kiss and the moan that snuck out of his mouth was soft, and gentle, and desperate. He hoped Ryo kept kissing him because he needed it. He needed the weight of Ryo's lips to anchor Kek's soul to his body.

"Take me," Ryo whispered, voice flowing like undyed silk in a strong storm's breeze.

The tam fell from Kek's hand as he dragged Ryo to their bedroom. They stumbled, refusing to stop their kissing as they walked down the hall, but they did reach the bed that time.

"Take me," Ryou pleaded.

They switched often enough, but Kek felt guilty when he topped. He worried, always worried, that he'd physically hurt Ryo. Thin and narrow like a shallow grave, white as porcelain, and soft as a feather traced down the nape of one's neck, how could Kek _not_ hurt him in some way?

When he found himself back in Domino – he and the others, all thrown back to life by gods as careless as children with toys – he'd found himself in his own body. A body taller than Marik's and twice as broad, as if the gods crafted the form to fit Kek's temperament. His body was heavy with muscle, dense, and too strong for his own good.

He tried to be careful, tried to be gentle, but Ryo's flushed face and soft needful cries made it difficult. More than once Kek realized he'd sped up when Ryo's cries grew sharp. Each time Ryo screamed, Kek winced and slowed back down, struggling to contain himself.

Ryo groaned once Kek slowed down. His nails pierced Kek's skin. "Quit teasing me!"

Kek slowed even more, confused. "Wh-what?"

"Stop slowing down! I can't stand it! Please! Please _don't stop_!"

Ryo begged. His voice sounded raw with need and his fingernails drew blood from Kek's bronzed skin. Kek felt dizzy, confused, elated. He couldn't stand it any longer either, holding back. He slammed into Ryo, hard as he wanted. Ryo screamed again, and Kek realized – for the first time – that it wasn't pain that made Ryo scream like that - it was euphoria. Kek never understood before. He always associated screams with pain; he never knew a scream could be good. Kek moaned as he moved freely. Ryo only lasted two minutes before hitting his peak, but he'd screamed _don't stop _and Kek had no intention of stopping. Unleashed for the first time, Kek didn't hype himself up for climax like he usually did. He enjoyed the moment, enjoyed the movement, enjoyed Ryo's breathless cries. He continued until his hips felt sore, and then Kek pulled out and dropped down to Ryou's pelvis.

He wrapped his mouth around Ryo's cock and sucked until Ryo was erect again. Ryo thrust his fingers into Kek's hair, pulling back as his touch met with unfamiliar ropes instead of long spikes, but as Kek continued to draw on Ryo's phallus with his mouth, Ryo's fingers found their way back into his hair, and this time they stayed. Kek waited until Ryo twitched in his mouth before adding another round of lube and re-entering. He pumped Ryo with his hands, burying himself deep. It wasn't until Ryo called out with his second orgasm that Kek allowed himself to follow, releasing a low groan as he came.

He collapsed onto the bed. They both sucked hard breaths into their lungs as they recovered.

"Holy shit," Ryo whispered.

"I always thought I was hurting you," Kek confessed in a low voice.

"I thought that's why you were always so timid."

"If you knew, why didn't you ever tell me to go harder?"

Ryo turned away. "It's hard . . . for me to ask for stuff like that. I want to. I want to talk dirty shout orders, but . . ." Ryo sighed. "I feel so stupid if I ever try, and then I choke up and loose my nerve."

Kek smiled. They were the same and the opposite of each other both at once. It wasn't until Kek said _thank you_ that Ryo managed _don't stop_. He teased Ryo's frosting pink nipple with his dusky fingertips. "So if I start saying _thank you_ more does that mean you'll start screaming _fuck me_ when we're in bed?"

Ryo turned on his side so he could hide his face against Kek's shoulder. "O-okay. Yeah, I will."

Kek brushed his fingers against Ryo's flurry of hair. He shifted in order to force Ryo away from his hiding place, and held Ryo's chin with thumb and forefinger, looking into rich, carob eyes. "Hey Ryo?"

There was another thing he'd always wanted to say since the first day meeting Ryo – meeting Ryo and not the Spirit possessing Ryo's body – and he wanted to say it now while the high of orgasm had him relaxed enough to speak.

"Yeah?"

"You're . . ." Kek took a deep breath. "Beautiful." He felt ridiculous as soon as the words left his mouth. "Is that what you say? To a guy, I mean? Should I have said something else? Attractive?"

"You should say whatever you want!" Ryo insisted, both beaming and blushing from the compliment. "When have you ever followed the norm, anyway? I'd be bored with a normal guy."

"Okay." Kek caressed the side of Ryo's face, making the other male's eyelashes flutter as he half closed his lids. "You're beautiful, Ryo. I should have said that years ago."

* * *

><p>In order to separate his looks from his original host ego, Kek got a snake-bite, two studs on his bottom lip. He also got a ring in his nose, and additional piercings in his ears. There was something addictive about piercings. The more Kek got, the more he wanted, so even though it didn't really change his appearance, he also got a stud in his tongue and a ring in each nipple. Ryo really enjoyed the last two and always found excuses to french kiss or suck at Kek's chest. Had Kek known how fond Ryo was of flicking nipple rings with his tongue, he would have gotten them pierced long ago.<p>

After a year, Kek's hair fully knotted into proper dreads. About half the length of Kek's hair shrank as the tangles condensed into dense ropes, but he still had enough length to pull the strands back and tie them behind his head. He didn't need to hide them under a tam anymore, but he still wore it in winter because he liked the bleeding skulls.

When Kek looked in the mirror, he liked who he saw. He still had the pyrite-colored hair, dusky skin, and lavender eyes, and he couldn't rid himself of the Ishtar cheekbones, or chin, or lips, but he'd added his own seasoning to the genetic recipe of his countenance, made it his own dish by changing the ingredients. He was satisfied.

There was one last thing, however, one last piece of his body he wanted to make his own – his back. He found a tattoo artist who specialized in tattooing over scars, rips in skin from accidents, the tale-tell lines on wrists, the shameful reminders of mastectomies or other surgeries. He had a long talk with the artist, who was selective about her clients. He used words like "cult" and "the compound" instead of "family" and "the Pharaoh's tomb". It was easier to explain his story that way. Otherwise, he'd feel like a lunatic lost in ancient Egyptian delusions. He couldn't help but dig his nails into his palms as he thought of it – how he had to simplify his own biography in order to make it sound believable.

Even prepping her for what she'd see, the woman still stifled a small cry with her hand when Kek took off his shirt.

"And you were ten?" she asked.

Kek nodded.

She leaned closer to look at the details. As an artist, Kek imagined his back was a macabre wonder to her. Unlike others who thought the scars were beautiful, she understood the effort required to make the markings just so, the hours layered over hours, the precision, the difficulty of blood obstructing the canvass.

"How much do you feel?"

Kek spread his hand and tilted it back and forth like a see-saw. He felt Ryo's fingers when they danced over his back, but it was a strange feeling compared to when the rest of his body was touched.

"I can do it, but it will hurt like hell."

"Tch, I'm not afraid of your little needles. This was done with a hot dagger."

"Shit," she cursed under her breath, but Kek still heard her. Then a heavy sigh fell from her lips. "It will probably hurt your wallet most."

Kek grinned at that. "I've been saving for it."

Kek broke things when he got angry, and he was quick to anger. The first thing had been Ryo's toaster. Ryo brought it into the living room and set it on his coffee table, staring at Kek.

_So . . . my toaster is broken._

_I know; I smashed it._ Kek had grinned when he said it. It'd been fun to slam it against the floor until pieces flew out.

_Why?_

_Because my toast burnt._

_That's your fault, not the toaster's._

_Fuck that toaster! Buy a new one._

_Oh no I'm not. _Ryo snorted, unimpressed with Kek's attitude. _You're going to fix it._

_Are you kidding? I smashed it to bits!_

_You still have to try._

_I don't know how to fix a fucking toaster._

_You will. _

Ryo had grabbed Kek's hand and dragged him to the computer, showing him how to research things like 'how to fix a toaster'. In the end, they ended with a dented, ugly, but fully functioning toaster. After awhile, Kek became adept at fixing old things. One day, Ryo brought their neighbor's old radio to him and asked him if he'd work on it. Having nothing better to do, Kek agreed. Later, Ryo handed him some money that the neighbor offered as a thank you.

Most of the residents in their complex were seniors, stubborn and unwilling to get rid of the objects they'd had for most their lives. Kek found himself fixing record players, and old CRT television sets. Once he even figured how to make a lady's old gramophone play again. They paid him whatever they wanted. Kek didn't mind. It gave him something to do during the hours Ryo worked. Ryo insisted Kek kept the money he earned, but Kek never knew what to do with most of it, until he started getting piercings.

It took her five visits to complete the tattoo. No matter how much Kek insisted that she work longer, she always bandaged his back and insisted he recover before she worked on it more. It drove Ryo crazy, not to see it, but Kek refused to let his lover peek below the bandages until the tattoo was complete.

Ryo bounced in anticipation the day Kek told him to remove the bandages. He did it from the front, only seeing Kek's chest, because he wanted to see the tattoo all at once. When the bandages rested in the trash bin, Ryo closed his eyes. "Okay, turn around and tell me when to open my eyes."

Kek grinned, doing as told. "Okay."

He heard Ryo gasp. Kek could only look at the image in a mirror or from photograph, but he knew what his back looked like. Vines burdened with thorns and leaves twisted in knots around his back. She'd done her best to work with the texture, making the scars look like a stone carving, old and ruined in which the vines had grown over. Ryo traced his fingers down the curls of green, ending at the bottom, left corner of Kek's back where a single, white rose bloomed amidst all the chaos.

"This is my life," Kek explained, "old, ruined scars beneath a new layer of growth – thorns and leaves – and a single, beautiful flower growing despite all the struggle."

"This . . . is amazing."

Kek turned, watching Ryo's face and toying with the heavy drape of white hair spilling across Ryo's shoulder. "It had to be a white rose because that makes me think of you. I'm me, but I wasn't always sure who _me_ was, and you waited all the while, giving me time to figure it out."

"Of course I did." Ryo cupped his hands over Kek's hand. "I . . ." He stopped, as he always did, this time he looked too pained. Unable to bare it, Ryo exhaled. "I love you, Kek."

Since the night Ryo gave Kek his skull cap, the paler male had kept his promise and screamed in bed. Curses, commands, lewd and dirty thoughts and wants. Kek never tired of hearing it, but his soft, timid _ I love you_ was better than every erotic curse Ryo ever growled into a pillow.

Kek leaned close to Ryo's lips. "I love you, too, Ryo."

And the tears lining on Ryo's white cheek reminded Kek of morning dew beading across the delicate curve of a white rose petal.


End file.
